Of Past Events
by Morning Twilight
Summary: Years ago, a faithful Death-eater sacrificed his only daughter to prove loyalty to Voldemort. Eleven years later, the Potions master of Hogwarts sees himself in the eyes of a young Gryffindor. But he's not the only one...


A/N: My latest story! Not much to say, so just read. Mostly angst and suspense.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or places mentioned in the story below and do not plan to gain anything from writing this story other than self-satisfaction.  
  
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Prologue:   
  
"Snape!" A cackling voice calls in the distance.   
  
No, please no! I think. Not now, I'm not ready to say goodbye! I look down into the eyes of the small baby in my arms, knowing that she never had the chance to live. But if I wish to continue living and spreading the good of my master's teachings, she must be sacrificed. It is a symbol of my loyalty to him.  
  
I walk out of the small tent I call my home, which was given to me by my master. He is so generous. There is a large bonfire, surrounded by many tents like the one I just came out of. I walk towards the fire, towards my master, my Lord, Lord Voldemort. His figure is silhouetted against the dark night sky, illuminated by the firelight.   
  
"Give me the child," he commands. I obey, of course, though my actions are delayed. My Lord notices, for he notices everything, and tells me I am becoming weak.  
  
No! I am not weak! That is why I came to you! Of course, I am smart enough to hold my tongue.  
  
My Lord looks at the child for a long time. Finally, he pulls out his wand and mutters 'Avada Kadevra', as if it were nothing more than saying goodbye to a friend. A bright green light flashes through the night. He drops the still carcass on the ground.  
  
My heart stings with pain. How could I have done that? I just let an innocent child get killed. My child. Goodbye, my love; my life.   
  
"Severus, come here." My Lord calls. I go to him, pushing the guilt out of my mind. He pulls a metal wand out of the fire. It is red from the heat, but he handles it no differently than a normal wand.  
  
"Can you hold out your wand arm please?" He says. It is not a question; it is a command. I always obey my master's commands, so I hold out my arm to him and roll up my sleeve. He grabs my wrist and presses the scalding wand to it. It burns like acid, but I endure it because I am forever loyal to my master. I can feel my skin burning and blistering from the heat. Finally, he lets go.  
  
"This," he says, "is to remind you of your loyalty, if you ever forget."  
  
"How could I ever forget?" I say, astonished that he would think such a thing.  
  
"You might be surprised."  
  
In the distance, the forgotten carcass of the child stirs...  
  
***  
  
I look down at the child in the photo. How could I have sacrificed such an innocent child? She had barely begun to live. How my life has changed since that fateful night!  
  
Now a teacher at Hogwarts, I wonder what might have happened if I had not given her to Voldemort. Maybe I could have escaped and raised her myself. Maybe not.  
  
There are too many what ifs. What if I had never joined Voldemort? What if I never met my late wife? What if I had never had a child? What if she was still alive?  
  
I never had a chance to name her. I was thinking of 'Heather', but I never decided for certain; she was taken from me too soon.   
  
Tears start to well in my eyes as I think of what might have been. I stare into the face of the baby in the only photograph I have of her. She is not moving in it, like she's dead, but that is only because the picture was taken with a muggle camera. It sends chills down my spine to see her that still.  
  
"Severus? Are you alright?" a voice in my office door asks me. I look up and see Dumbledore standing there with a look of concern on his face. He and only he knows what happened in my pre-Hogwarts life.  
  
"I'm fine. Just thinking..." I say.  
  
"The students will be arriving shortly and I believe they will want to see their potions master at the Sorting Ceremony." He says.  
  
"Yes, I believe they will. I'll be to the Great Hall shortly." I tell him.  
  
***  
  
The Sorting Ceremony is usually dull and boring. I usually drift off into a silent reverie of my past until food arrives on my plate and I pretend to be enjoying myself. But always in the back of my mind, I am thinking of her, my baby.  
  
This year is different. For one, I realize that this would be year my daughter would turn eleven and start her first year at Hogwarts. Guilt washes over me.  
  
For another, my brand that Voldemort gave me has reappeared. It disappeared only after I stopped following Voldemort. Now that it's back, there is no doubt in my mind that Voldemort is returning to power. My mark is especially clear when I am near that annoying Professor Quirrell. There's something about him I don't trust...  
  
I watch as the first years are led into the Great Hall. They all have nervous looks on their faces. McGonagall calls off their names and one by one, they sit on a rickety old stool and put on a battered old hat. My eyes catch a boy's stare. James? No, of course not. That's his son, Harry. He suddenly clutches his forehead in pain. I look around and see that Prof. Quirrell was also staring at him...  
  
I look at the other students anxiously waiting to be called and see something odd. I recognize a girl with bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, but from where? I look strait into her eyes, and it clicks. My photo, the one of my baby. That's my daughter!  
  
No, I'm getting delusional. I witnessed her death years ago. And, no one has ever survived the killing curse. Except Harry Potter. If it happened once, could it have happened before? Instead of rebounding and hitting the originator, could it have been absorbed?  
  
I look into the girl's eager brown eyes and recognize something else. I see myself in her. It has to be my daughter!  
  
"Granger, Hermione," McGonagall calls from her list. 


End file.
